


common ground isn’t so hard to find

by Sasskarian



Series: Home is Where You Are [5]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Meet the Family, Other, Romance, also a surprise character cameo from the OT, and Sara being nervous about the angara, and interesting uses of bioelectricity coming up in the next chapter, and some soul searching for Jaal, in which we get a look at some drama behind the scenes in Resistance HQ, there's definitely some insecurities for both of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasskarian/pseuds/Sasskarian
Summary: I thought your feelings for Jaal gave you pleasure and comfort.“They do! It’s just… complicated.” Sara tore off the VI goggles Gil had rigged up for her and blinked as the Tempest swam into view. She stared at her list of mostly-legible notes scrawled on her datapad, noted a few more things, and sent the mess off to Gil in an email.“Most things in life are, it seems,” SAM replied aloud, hovering over his router.





	common ground isn’t so hard to find

**Heleus Cluster | Onaon System | Aya | Market**

*******

“ _Skkut!_ Ryder!”

“Sorry, Enroh— oh!” Sara tried to stop, bounced into a low bench, and crashed into a pile of bruised, groaning Pathfinder on the other side. At least this time, she remembered to shield her head as she skidded to rest against the wall. Lexi would be pleased. Another concussion would get her put back under the scanner and that just ruined everyone’s day. “...ow.”

“There’s a bench there, Ryder,” Enroh said, his voice dry enough to make Eos look humid. “In fact, there’s been a bench there some time, now.”

Sara breathed deep, prodding at the ache blossoming across her ribs. Tann would want her to apologize, preserve the peaceful, fragile alliance with the Angara. The accident had been (mostly) her fault, anyway. Kandros would tell her to pick herself up, dust off as best she could, and keep running. But Kesh— and by extension, Drack— would tell her that she was a damn _Pathfinder_ , and not to take anyone’s crap, to say—

“Bite me, Enroh.”

He laughed and reached over to help her to her feet before picking up the datapad she’d flung out of his hands when they collided. Guiltily, she peeked over his shoulder, squinting at the display. “Is it… okay? Did I break it?”

“It’s fine,” he answered, smiling at her— and _God_ but she loved angaran smiles. Especially Jaal’s. “Neither of us were looking where we were going. Serves me right for being distracted when you’re back on Aya.”

As Enroh walked away, Sara planted her feet and leaned forward, sweat trickling down her back. As much as she wanted to refute the governor's assistant, he wasn’t exactly wrong: having the _Tempest_ on Aya—and her crew thus loose among the population—was always a cause for both celebration and caution. Vetra’s take-no-prisoners haggling style sometimes ended up in trade hauls, and sometimes in shouting matches. Drack and Liam spent so much time in the Tavetaan, ‘their’ seats probably had imprints of their rears. And Cora split her time evenly between staring wistfully out at the lush expanses of Aya, and staring wistfully at the training grounds of the Resistance.

At least this trip saw more resolving trade disputes over drinks and cheer than shouting. Although being called by Roaan to come pick her crew up before they drank themselves stupid last time had been an experience she could have done without. Lexi, thankfully, dealt with Drack while Cora and Sara wrangled Liam and Vetra between them back to the _Tempest_. Maybe someday, when they were all famous and she needed blackmail on them, Sara would have SAM play back those memories for them. The thought made her grin as she cracked her neck and walked to Felaan’s stand.

“Ho, Pathfinder.” Felaan smiled and tossed her a paripo, which she obligingly raised to her nose for a sniff. “Fruit is fresh and sweet today. Going to buy some, lighten your pockets?”

“What else am I going to spend my credits on?” Sara called, smiling back. Her mouth watered at the sweet-tart smell of the fruit, clear even through the thick rind. “Jaal wanted me to pick up some elmohk for his brother, and I think I’ll take some paripo, too.” Felaan nodded, rolling a couple of each fruit into a sack for her as Sara formally placed the order via omni-tool.

“The rest will go to the _Tempest_ , then?” Felaan asked, eyeing her curiously. “If Jaal is placing an order, you must be going to Havarl soon. Elmohk has just enough shelf-life to survive a few days if I give you some unripe ones.”

Heat flooded Sara’s cheeks before she could stop it, and Felaan laughed, bright and cheerful. “Oh, that boy has you wrapped around his wrist, doesn’t he?” The familiar sentiment startled Sara for a moment but, in a species like the Angara, where gossip spread faster than wildfire, word of the awkward dance between Jaal and herself was bound to spread.

Theirs was an odd but friendly rapport: when Sara was still getting lost through the twisting paths of Aya and worrying about a food source for the Initiative, Felaan had been kind enough— in a perplexed way— to explain how things grew… and how much of a luxury fresh food was in Andromeda. The Ryder household had never exactly been wealthy, especially after her father’s disgrace, but seeing the hardship-born frugality of the Angara made them look rich and privileged. That lesson, among others, was something she always kept in mind.

“He wants me to meet his family,” Sara admitted, tying the sack to her belt and engaging the repulsor tech. To avoid any scandalizing wardrobe malfunctions on Sara’s market runs, Gil and Peebee had rigged up a belt that used gravitational tech to reduce the weight of anything attached to it. Personally, she thought it was silly; she’d only done that once. But the bag served another purpose too, now. “So I thought…”

“So you thought bribing them with fresh fruit would get you good graces and a warm welcome?” Felaan smiled as she finalizing the transaction, and Sara was relieved to see there was no judgement in her friend’s face. “Well, it worked here on Aya.”

***

The way to Resistance HQ was jammed with people, so finishing her morning run wasn’t an option unless she wanted to give the clinic a workout by running over pedestrians. Of course, she thought, noting the glare Sorvis Lynn shot her, that might not be such a bad thing. It’d make her feel better, anyway— maybe deflate the prick’s ego a degree or two.

Obnoxious scientists aside, a walk through the winding streets was refreshing, something to luxuriate in. In all of Heleus, Aya was the one place that no one on the crew squabbled over visiting. Havarl spoke to the wildness in her soul, that reckless, twisted tangle of will that even the Alliance hadn’t been able to rein in, and Eos reminded her of the deserts she’d loved so much as a child; she was pretty sure she was the only one who loved Eos, actually. Well, aside from Drack— dry, cracked, and inhospitable spoke kinship to him, the grumpy bastard.

But Aya… Aya smoothed peace across her shoulders, whispered safety in her ear. It was a refuge, and she let herself drink it in, greedy for the illusion that there was one last Safe Place in Andromeda.

Every morning they were docked here, she went for a run through the gently-curved buildings, letting the humid air and beauty of the jungle sink deep into her soul. More than ever, the need for that peaceful facade left her battered heart gasping for more. Battling kett was necessary and it was her _job_ to protect and guide—for all that she still wondered if it was the best choice—but damn if it didn’t take a toll. What they’d learned in the exaltation facility still haunted her, still woke her up in the middle of the night hearing Jaal’s weeping or the scream of the exalted Angara.

Some nights were better than others, but lately… lately she’d woken up in a cold sweat, Jaal’s face the one twisted in agony as his body corrupted around him. Sara knew he had nightmares about her dying on the Archon’s ship, and those didn’t skip her entirely, either. But there was something _new_ sizzling along their connections now, something she’d been afraid to name and more afraid to pursue. Losing Jaal to something as horrific as exaltation now—  hell, losing any of her crew to the kett would be terrible, but without Jaal’s gentle strength and compassion to hold tight to, Sara feared her part in the war would be over. Ryders weren’t quitters, but…   

In the end, she knew that if the choice came down to saving Jaal and her crew or saving herself, she was expendable. It was her job to step between the people depending on her and a galaxy more hostile than they’d bargained for. A Pathfinder’s duty was to secure the future, through exploration or defending. Or even sacrifice.

_From one Pathfinder to another… farewell. Raeka out._

“Ryder?”

Strong hands grasped her shoulders before she could run into anyone and Sara blinked up into Jaal’s face. His blue eyes narrowed, and one thumb moved to brush her cheek. “You are crying,” he said softly. It was a simple statement with no pushing for explanations, or undercurrent of judgment. His face showed no trace of surprise, but that was Jaal all over, wasn’t it? He was Aya’s peace personified, radiating grace and comfort even as she allowed herself to be reeled in against his chest.

“I was remembering Raeka,” she said, burrowing closer, thankful for such an easy, comforting touch. With a little searching, she could hear his heartbeat under her ear, and a shiver of soothing electricity tingled over her.

“Ah.” Jaal stroked a hand down her back, gentle waves of his current seeping into her muscles and untangling the knots the run hadn’t taken care of. “You aren’t the only one feeling the sting of loss, dear one.” When Sara looked up, he had a sorrowful half-smile on his face. “There was a foiled raid late last night, and Evfra is in a foul mood this morning.”

“And are we going to make his morning worse?” she asked. “It’s always just my _favorite_ thing to be scolded first thing Monday morning, you know.”

Jaal winked, a habit he had, unfortunately for the easily charmed, picked up from Gil on poker nights. He gestured to the fruit with a grin and said, “As Suvi says, kindness might kill him.” Sara laughed, nudging his hand where it rested on her hip, but her thoughts went wandering as she and Jaal strolled through Aya’s winding streets. “Should we see if she’s right?”

She wanted to like Evfra. Really, she did. The arrogant, icy Resistance leader might not have been Jaal’s friend, but Jaal respected him, cared about him. That alone should have— and normally would have— at least earned him the civility her mother had brow-beaten into her. But Evfra made it so bloody _difficult_. It seemed like they always ended up in a cold war with each other any time she set foot on Aya, needling the other relentlessly.

How did he do it? Losing everything to the kett gave one some pass on being wounded but, in Sara’s rather unprofessional opinion, Evfra took it a step farther: he was sometimes just an _asshole_ , plain and simple _._ And in his shoes, she thought, allowing Jaal to pull her up the stairs to the Resistance Headquarters, she wouldn’t have been able to stand the thought of people in frightened awe of her. Pathfinder fame was a heavy enough burden; if everyone feared her, whispered her name the way they whispered _Evfra der Tershaav_ as if it were a curse or a taboo? No. Just… no.

Watching the wary Resistance soldiers perk up as she and Jaal passed, the way they jostled and laughed as they pointed at the bag resting on her hip, she knew. Evfra ran his Resistance with precision, but had long ago walled himself off to any camaraderie from his soldiers. And that defied Sara’s entire military experience: informality kept soldiers going on deployments. Orders were followed, sometimes to the letter, sometimes in spirit— creative interpretation was only encouraged by her father’s loose Spectre morality— but the job still got done without destroying the heart of those following it. She wanted, _needed_ , her people to feel safe with her. Safe enough to laugh with her, to disagree on a bad call. It reminded her she was a person.

Evfra rejected that. And she almost felt a little sorry for him.

“Ryder!” Raske called, smile almost a parsec wide. Some of the apprehension about whatever mood Evfra would level at her dissipated as she bumped forearms with her friend. “Felaan sent breakfast by Pathfinder this morning?”

The translation wasn’t exact, but the programs were always a work in progress. And, more, spending so much time with the Angara, and Jaal in particular, had clearly done strange and wondrous things. Six months ago, they had seemed so… _alien._ Even for someone who grew up on the Citadel, removed from humanity as a whole more often than not. But now, detecting the faintest ripple of ozone and bioelectricity of Angaran current in the air was as easy and unconscious as noticing another biotic in a crowd. Each signature, for lack of a more precise word, ‘tasted’ a little different, had subtle variations in their there-not-quite-there frequencies.

As Raske’s voice carried through the room, the murmurs and jostling intensified into a dizzying array of static, a wave of inaudible pressure lapping at the shores of her mind. “Is that paripo, Ryder?” came somewhere from her left, whining in a way she didn’t hear so much as feel somewhere in her chest. Someone in back cheered her name as Jaal produced a knife from somewhere— no amount of careful side-eyeing revealed where— and cut two fruits before she finished her one.

A slim, purple hand reached for a slice and Sara leveled a mock-stern glare at the youngest Resistance soldier she’d ever seen. “There’s plenty for everyone, _onje_ ,” Jaal chided, before she could slip the girl a piece; the twinkle in his eye, however, told her loud and clear he’d noticed her nudging the food closer.

With a grin, the girl took it and retreated back to her station, prize clutched tight to her chest. “Don’t even start,” Sara said serenely, cleaning Jaal’s blade then her own. “I’m a sucker for kids.”

“I will have to warn my brothers not to bring the kits, then,” he replied, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. “We’ll wait until your second dinner to swindle you, yes?”

Together, they rounded the corner into Evfra’s lair, Sara kicking the sullen AI from Voeld with a cheerful, “Up yours too, then,” when it insulted her.

“Bringing my men treats again, Pathfinder?” Evfra growled, hands planted on his desk and menace coiled in a shroud around his body. He didn’t bother to look up, tabbing through two different datapads and thundering against her senses like a storm-head. “We aren’t pets for you to tame.” The ice in his voice slid down Sara’s spine and sent goosebumps rippling down her arms.

“I’m not trying to tame you,” she replied softly, “and I mean no insult with my gifts. You know that.”

Evfra did drag his gaze up at that, all narrowed eyes and slitted pupils. If she only looked with her eyes, danger shrouded him, like a bull about to charge, ready to bellow with rage. But there was a tremble in the current he gave off, bouncing wasp-like and angry against her ribcage, and the muscles around his eyes and mouth had a tight, bloodless look she knew stemmed from too little sleep and no real rest.

On another day, Sara might have been tempted to give him something to fight face to face, something to purge himself on. There were days like that for her, when the pain and loss became salt in a dozen open wounds: Scott, her father, Raeka. All the people waiting on her to find them a home and suffering more each day she failed. The prejudices that were supposed to have been left behind and instead were flourishing. The false, failed promise of the Initiative, the proverbial brochure that said _Come, find a home. Come and start anew_.

She knew that dark anger, struggled to keep it buried so that the poison wouldn’t splash out onto everyone else— those were the days that she sparred with Drack or Cora, or sought out impossible-looking Asari biotic exercises. Those were the days she pushed her body until she dropped, chasing mindless exhaustion and trying to purge the anger, the sorrow, the resentment. And for the first time, Sara looked at Evfra and saw a reflection of her buried self that no one knew.

The weight on Evfra’s shoulders was at least as heavy as hers, probably more so— and with that realization, whatever impulse she had to smart off at him, or indulge another childish pissing contest, died. For good.

She swallowed hard and stepped closer, setting the last piece of paripo on the corner of the desk. A moment passed between them, his eyes staring into hers. Part of her wanted to reach out with a gentle biotic touch, a proverbial hand on his shoulder. Something to say, _I understand. And I’m sorry. How can I help?_ But she knew it was the wrong moment for that; trying to dismantle their cold war had to wait until Evfra didn’t need that icy distance to keep the loss from becoming overwhelming.

Still, even though she kept all of her empathy to herself, something in Evfra… not precisely softened, but resettled in a slightly-less-hostile fashion. The cords in his neck slowly smoothed out, some of the tension in his face loosening, and— almost as good a sign of some sort of victory, like the tipping of a king in a chess match— the scarred corner of his mouth gave the tiniest of quirks. It wasn’t quite a smile: the day was too solemn for that. But it was something she could build on later.

“As you will, then,” he rumbled, turning his eyes back to what Sara recognized as scrolling casualty reports. The words should have sounded like a sneer, and an hour ago? They might have. But Sara knew something about Evfra now, a new layer to the boogeyman-like persona he projected through the Resistance— and the statement just sounded tired. Leadership became a heavy burden, deciding who lived and who died and wondering what to do if their family asks _why?_ And that, they had in common. He fought against the eradication of his species, and she fought the slow death of the entire Initiative.

_Who knew?_ She thought, stepping back and taking Jaal’s hand. _Maybe common ground isn’t so hard to find after all._

The scent of the paripo spread through the headquarters as Jaal chatted with this soldier or that technician, calling them by names like old friends. Sara leaned against the edge of Raske’s station, her gaze pinned on Evfra’s office across the room.

“How bad was it? Really?” she asked, voice dropping under the low, contented hum of the other Angara.

Raske’s thick fingers slowed, and his mouth narrowed. “Bad enough,” he said finally. “At least three full units. Specialists we can’t replace.” His shoulders rounded and the strength of the despair laced through his current had her hand curling around his. He held on with a desperate, trembling strength belying his projected calm. “We’re running out of people, Ryder,” he said, tear-bright eyes blinking a shade too rapidly. “They’re exterminating us, and we can’t stop it. The only thing we can do is make them work for it a little harder.”

“No.” The word was sharp, sharper than she’d meant for it to be, but honest. Jaal raised his head from a reporting screen he was explaining to a new recruit, silently asking if she needed him. With a wave, she reassured him and then turned back to Raske. Something quiet and fierce ran through her, a clear note in a song woven from grief and pain. “We will win this. There has to be something the Initiative can do to bolster your numbers.” She watched Jaal, his hands gentle on the shoulders of the younger recruits. A flash of her nightmare grabbed her heart and refused to let go— _his face bursting with kett bone, that black poison racing ahead through his veins as she hung, helpless, useless_ — and a promise rested in her mouth as she said, “And if I have to personally knock Tann’s head against his desk to make him listen, it’s worth the court-martial.”

***

“Jaal, you must _breathe_.” His mothers’ voices were entirely too amused for his peace of mind. “This will go how it goes and worrying over it does nothing productive.”

_Easy for them to say,_ Jaal thought, frowning. He settled back against the edge of his sleeping mattress and crossed his arms.   

Yes, he’d made the decision to bring Sara to his home, to his family, and tell her his feelings. And he knew, on some level, that she was no fool; she probably knew something like this was coming. But there was a heavy stone sitting low in his stomach, a fear that everything he would lay at her feet as an offering would be… not enough. Far less than she deserved, he knew, but also far less than most could offer her. Should offer her.

A distinguished family name like Ama Darav should carry honor, great deeds, should come to a beloved bearing epics of bravery and sage wisdom in the palms he’d offer. Instead, all he had were callouses, a history of music, and a fifteen year old rifle to shoot at kett with. Sara’s name, her title, was a burden she’d wielded as weapon and shield, something turned into a promise of safety and justice. Her small human hands dug deep into the very weave of Heleus and held fast, carving respect out of disdain and righting the wrongs of the Nexus.

Already, Sara was a _legend_. And he was… not.

Her face had been hidden from him on the Archon’s ship, but he’d wager she showed the same cool satisfaction that all but dripped from her as she shot that first Ascended. And each one after that became easier, just another routine day as Pathfinder. That she didn’t seem to know her own glory frustrated him: it was the unfortunate tendency of reluctant heroes, not seeing the galaxy for all the stars in front of her face.

“Jaal?”

Since he’d realized her importance to him, gave a name to the way she burned like a flame in his heart, Jaal needed more willpower to fight the urge to go to her without tradition, without anything, and spill his heart at her feet. His admiration, his love, the hunger driving him to spend as much time with her as possible, to share moments big or small or life-changing. That he would love an alien, someone Akksul named enemy and Evfra once called _conqueror_ , he struggled with.

And Evfra. Before the humans crash-landed on Aya, Jaal would have bet a year’s worth of nutrient paste that Evfra would never change his mind on someone. Stubborn was a nice way to describe his leader, but it fell short by far. But the email sent after their return from the Resistance couldn’t be explained any other way. It was far from an apology, but the simple, _Perhaps your human is not so awful,_ spoke volumes about Sara’s actions.

“ _Jaal?_ ”

How would his siblings react? Teviint had been the most vocal in her disapproval, but Jaal wondered how much of her concern and hatred was genuine, and how much was Akksul’s poison sunk into her mind. Lathoul was the most open of them, always asking questions about the humans and the Initiative. And Baranjj was easily swayed with generosity—  hence the small cache of elmohk stowed in the cargo bay to contribute to the gathering.

“Jaal!”

Jaal’s attention snapped back, focusing on the screen—  and he realized with a flush of embarrassment that he’d gotten lost in his own thoughts and left his mothers in silence. Far from being annoyed, though, his true mother’s face looked thoughtful—  and a little sly.

“Jaal, _ongaan_ , you love her.” Sahuna’s eyes softened into a smile. “Give us a chance to love her too.”

***

_Sara, if you do not adjust your altitude, you are going to crash._ SAM’s voice was a counterpoint to the loud alarms pinging on her console, his even tone igniting Sara’s temper more than crashing.

“Not helping, SAM!” Various lights blinked at her, leaving afterimages in her eyes as she flipped switches. Every time one alarm stopped, two more shouted at her. “Damn you!” she snarled, pounding the dash. “Work!”

_I do not think the interface will respond to violence,_ SAM said, droll as an AI could be. _If it would, perhaps Gil would have more repairs to make._

Sara snorted, pulling hard on the yoke in a last, desperate move. Any instructor would be cringing, lecturing her about putting too much strain on the gravity dampener and the already-struggling engine. But, strain or not, the shuttle vibrated around her in protest before skimming the edge of the crater with a groan. Plumes of dust-fine sand billowed around her as she set the smoking shuttle down less-than-gently and rested her head on the console, listening to the alarms fade. It held together, barely, and the simulation ended with a wavery _Congratulations! Mission survived!_ message scrolling across her goggles.

_Are you all right, Sara?_

“No,” she said on an exhale. Despite the mock-flying, nerves still danced in her stomach with every light year they crossed closer to Havarl. “This wouldn’t be so damn hard if I hadn’t gone and fallen for the first pretty alien in Andromeda to bat his big blue eyes at me!” Lacing her hands behind her neck alleviated some of the ache there from days of tensing under her crewmates’ knowing grins, but it was too little, too late. Pain still crawled up her spine, a clench of muscles and sharp, bright sparks that promised a hell of a headache. “Scott is never going to let me live this one down.”

_I thought your feelings for Jaal gave you pleasure and comfort._

“They do! It’s just… complicated.” Sara tore off the VI goggles Gil had rigged up for her and blinked as the _Tempest_ swam into view. She stared at her list of mostly-legible notes scrawled on her datapad, noted a few more things, and sent the mess off to Gil in an email.

“Most things in life are, it seems,” SAM replied aloud, hovering over his router. As much as she enjoyed the mini-projectors Kallo had been able to set up, while teasing her about her stumbling orders to set the ship for the Faroang System, she was happiest when he was ‘here’ in her quarters.

_Maybe being in my head isn’t the best thing for him,_ she thought wryly. _I’m not exactly a bastion of civilization._ “Tell me about it,” she said aloud, rolling her shoulders back with twin pops loud enough to make her wince.

Despite days of reassuring herself, both internally and aloud while pacing her quarters (and the hall) (...and the airlock), that she was perfectly capable of meeting the Ama Daravs without making a fool of herself, the words rang hollow and only added more logs to the raging bonfire of anxiety in her chest. Teviint hadn’t exactly been welcoming the last they’d met, and Lathoul had been shot because of her. And somehow…

_I’m not the hero they think I am. I’m not Dad._

Compared to the blunders already stacked against her in the eyes of the Angara, her questionably helpful misadventures people called ‘heroic’ seemed to pale.

“I don’t know if I want to do this, SAM.”

SAM flickered, a signal that he was processing; she’d noticed the addition to his increasingly-human gestures in the last few weeks. “If it is important to Jaal that you meet his family, why do you have objections?”

_That’s the million credit question, isn’t it?_ For half an instant, Sara considered making something up. But what good did it do to lie to the one person— well, being, anyway— who knew her best? “Because I would rather face down the Archon and a dozen Ascendeds all over again before I disappoint Jaal.”

SAM processed for a moment, router whirring gently. “Do you believe you will disappoint them?”

Sara made her way over to the bed, groping blindly for the drawer of her table. The promised pain of that headache loomed dark and heavy, pressing on the edges of her awareness; whether the result of implants or biotics or just strange twin-bilities, as Scott called them, migraines were a constant and sometimes-debilitating companion. Her fingers grazed something fuzzy and she pulled it out, activating the heating patch with a slap, wrapping it around her neck and smoothing it up to meet her jaw. A painkiller and a gulp of water later saw her under the covers, spare pillow hugged tight to her chest.

_Sara._ SAM’s voice echoed in her mind, a beacon in the approaching storm of pain. _Is this an easier way to communicate?_

“Yeah, that’s better,” she whispered, letting SAM turn the lights off and watching the stars dance beyond the window, restless and somehow soothing. “I don’t know. Meeting parents of people you care about is always stressful. It’s just more this time, somehow.”

_Are there no words of comfort you can think of? I could run a search, if you like._

Sara snorted gently, draping an arm over her eyes. Gentle heat crept through the knots in her neck and shoulders, slowly coaxing them loose. “Maybe,” she said, quiet. A sharp blue face full of angles and age swam through her hazy teenage memories. “There was one person who gave me a few knocks on the head when I needed it most.”

_Scans of the memories I have access to suggest this would be your shuttle instructor on the Citadel._ SAM hummed for a moment, and then the memory fuzzed into life behind her closed eyes—

_You’re gonna crash a few times before you soar,_ her shuttle instructor told her.

“SAM, remember how I said that’s a little creepy?” Sara asked, laughing a little despite herself. “Digging through my memories is still weird.”

_I apologize,_ he replied, and it was so much easier now to think of SAM as an entity, as a _he_ , than it had ever been before. _Should I stop the playback?_

“Nah,” she mumbled through a yawn. Her protest was mostly pretend, anyway, and she nuzzled into her pillow as the painkillers and memory washed over her.

Asari age gracefully, but the almost-millennium was undeniably stamped across the instructor’s face in laugh lines and crow’s feet. For slumming around on the Citadel teaching young, hotshot Alliance recruits the finer points of civilian and combat piloting— among other more useful, less Alliance-approved things— they’d always seemed cheerful, if gruff. The take-no-shit attitude was a selling point to Sara; maybe that’s why Drack’s rumbles and grumbles rolled off her so easy.

_Once you hit that sweet spot, you can glide all the way from here to the edge of darkspace._ Their nose had crinkled up, a soft smile tucked in the corners of their mouth as the empty hand mimed a flight path. _‘Course, you’ll be dead by then, but you can do it, kid._

_You’ve got this,_ the memory-Asari whispered. _When shit gets hard, just keep going. Debris, gunfire, asteroids, trashy exes. Whatever gets thrown at you, you just keep flying. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get you through most days._

_What about the rest?_ Sara had asked, stirring the questionably-legal laced coffee she really shouldn’t have been drinking at seventeen. _Flying can only get you so far, right?_

The smile Aethyta leveled at her then was full of teeth, something fierce and not-quite-predatory that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Drack or Kesh, and said, _for the rest? There’s always explosives._

***

This was not going well.

No, this was turning into a _disaster._

Between dropping the heavy bags of fruit on the pilot’s foot, Jaal bonking his head on the roof of the shuttle, and tripping over the co-pilot not once but twice, the shuttle ride to Jaal’s family home started out on the wrong foot. Almost literally. Her attempt at an apology ended in a great deal of stammering and a long moment of awkward silence, and when the co-pilot showed her to the bucket seat, she strapped herself in with resignation.

_Sara, if you keep tensing up, there is an eighty-two percent probability you will trigger a headache._ SAM slid through the chatter between the pilots, snippets of Shelesh she couldn’t catch and wanted to bare her teeth at, like a finger on the knot of nerves centered in her chest.

_It’s not like this is going all that great, SAM,_ she thought silently, staring out at the hazy edges of the gas giant. _I told you this was a bad idea!_

SAM buzzed gently, once, twice, a third time— and Sara realized it was his version of patting her shoulder. _I think you will be fine._

As if he’d heard the silent argument, Jaal looked over at her and laid his fingers over hers, squeezing tentatively. “There is no reason to be nervous, Sara,” he murmured in her ear. His proximity left a shiver of pleasure curling through her and, with a little concentration, she could pinpoint the smallest wave of static as it bloomed between their hands. “My family is excited for this.”

A million things she wanted to say— _What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t live up to what the Angara say about me? What if you see through me, too?—_ crowded her throat, but his gentle warmth and the soft, private smile he offered her as they approached the ground was enough to silence them for a while. As the shuttle doors opened, she saw the Ama Darav residence sprawl out below them, larger than she’d expected. But with Jaal’s grip on her hand sure and comforting and SAM’s presence in her head, she was mostly ready to face the whoosh of the opening door.

***

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Guys. Guys, I’m so sorry for the long, long, _absurdly_ long wait for another chapter. Life kind of went pear-shaped, badly. Both of my remaining parental figures passed away, and I barely wrote for almost a year. Like, I went from writing 200k words a year to. Maybe 20k. Things are finally starting to look up, but it’s… been quite the journey. Thank you for your patience and I hope this admittedly short chapter rekindles some of the love Home has received since it was first posted.


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